


Speak For The Dead

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Awesome Molly, BAMF Molly Hooper, Comunicating Through Dreams, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreams vs. Reality, Established Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Inheritance, Magical Inheritance, Married Mary Morstan/John Watson, Married Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Molly Has Secrets, Molly Has Supernatural Abilities, Molly Hooper & Mary Watson Friendship, Molly Saves the Day, Molly is a Mess, Molly-centric, Murder, Murder Plot, POV Molly Hooper, Poor Molly, Premonitions, Sherlock Is A Skeptic, Sherlock is a Good Husband, Smart Mary, Smart Molly, Supernatural Elements, Talking To Dead People, Worried John, Worried Mary, Worried Sherlock, halloween party, scared Molly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-24 21:25:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 21,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4935895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly gets a letter from a solicitor that she’s the sole beneficiary of the estate of a Miss Venecia Williamson, supposedly a great-aunt she’s never heard of. She inherits an estate on the outskirts of London, a large sum of money, a rather eclectic household staff and, rather unfortunately, a gift: the ability to speak to the dead. And even more unfortunately, there are people who would rather she <i>didn’t</i> put that gift to good use.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was trying to get 666 followers on Tumblr by October 1st to write a special Halloween story, and I succeeded (yay!), and in order to get followers I offered to write Halloween fic for any new followers or anyone who reblogged my "Follow me!" post. Well, **limajoro** requested some fic with the following prompt: " _Something suddenly causes Molly to discover she is a medium. She starts to hear from the dearly departed in her morgue. Sherlock is a sceptical, of course. Scary? Funny? You decide._ " I decided to also make this a Spook Me Ficathon 2015 entry entry as well, so the fic is inspired by [this image](http://s3.postimg.org/449qcs0cz/Ghost2.jpg) by Christian Martin Weiss.

Molly was sitting in her favorite chair at Baker Street, enjoying a cup of tea and the newest Cynster novel by Stephanie Laurens when Sherlock came in with a letter. “You got something very important,” he said, coming closer to her.

“Hmm?” she asked, lifting her head up and looking at him. Her reading glasses had slipped down her nose and she pushed them up on her face. “What’s that?”

“A certified letter,” he said. “I just ran into someone trying to deliver it. I wasn’t sure if you were home but since I’m your husband they said I could sign for it.”

She put her bookmark in her book and set it on the table, getting up out of her seat. This was curious. She hadn’t been _expecting_ any official correspondence from anyone, especially anything she had to sign for. She moved over to Sherlock and he handed her the letter, and she opened it up, pulling the letter out of the envelope. “To Mrs. Molly Holmes,” she read. “It is with regret that I inform you of the passing of your Great-Aunt Miss Venecia Williamson. You are her sole beneficiary and as such you have inherited the entirety of her estate, which includes Forsythe Manor in Rowledge, Surrey, the contents of said manor, and the amount of…” Her eyes went wide and she dropped the letter as her hands began to shake.

“Molly?” Sherlock asked, giving her a curious look.

“Sherlock, I just inherited over one hundred million pounds,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She clasped her hands over her mouth and then took a step backwards and sank into the chair, stunned.

Sherlock bent down and picked up the letter, scanning it. “’In order to collect your inheritance, you must come to Forsythe Manor on October 15th for the reading of Miss Williamson’s last will and testament, and remain at the manor for the duration of the month until the annual Halloween party for the benefit of the village. On November 1st the property and finances will be transferred over into your name by myself and will be under your complete control.’” He looked up at that. “This sounds suspicious. Did you even know you had a Great-Aunt Venecia?”

Molly shook her head. “I had no idea,” she said, looking up at him. “Neither my mum or my dad mentioned her.”

He studied the letter some more. “Let me call Mycroft, see what digging he can do into her and into the solicitor who sent this,” he said.

“Sherlock, what are we going to do if it’s legitimate?” she asked, tilting her head. “I mean, we haven’t really wanted for anything, and we’ve been quite happy, but with a manor home and that much money, we could do just about anything we wanted. We could travel, we could move away from London…”

He looked down. “We could, I suppose,” he said quietly.

She bit her lip. She hadn’t wanted him to think she was unhappy. She loved him so much, loved the life they had together. She loved Baker Street and loved working at Barts and helping him with his cases on occasion, and she did love London. But this windfall would mean a sense of freedom that they hadn’t had before, especially since so many of the bad times of the past were behind them. There were fewer tethers than there had been before but they didn’t take advantage of the freedom they had for one reason or another. But with this…now they could. She got up and went over to him, embracing him from the side. “You look into it and see what you can find out. Would you like me to start making dinner soon?”

He nodded. “I think that would be a good idea,” he said.

“Okay,” he said, leaning up and kissing his cheek.

“You can give me a better kiss than that,” he said, a small smile crossing his face as he turned to look at her. She gave him a wide grin and gave him a proper kiss as he pulled her closer. Despite the momentary awkwardness they seemed to have moved past it well enough, she thought as she melted against him. He looked down at her and tossed the letter down onto the chair. “Perhaps dinner and the letter can wait.”

“Oh?” she asked, moving her arms so she could wrap them around his neck. “Just what did you have in mind instead?”

“Spending some time with my wife in the comfort of our bedroom,” he said. “We’re still in the honeymoon stage of our marriage, after all. It’s to be expected.”

“That is true, isn’t it,” she said with a laugh. She leaned in and kissed him again, more quickly this time. “All right then. Let’s go have a little bit of fun before either of us gets called away to more pressing things.” She pulled away then and offered him her hand. Once he grabbed it, she damn near pulled him along to their bedroom, which elicited a chuckle from him. She’d think more about the letter and what that all meant later but for now, she had more important things to concentrate on.


	2. Chapter 2

“The solicitor appears to be genuine,” Mycroft said a few days later, when he came to Baker Street to speak to both Sherlock and Molly. “And you are, indeed, related to this Venecia Williamson, though it’s a bit more complicated than ‘great-aunt.’”

“How so?” Molly asked, picking up the cup of tea she’d made when he arrived and taking a sip.

“She is related to you on your father’s side of the family. Somewhere down the family line, a few generations before your father, a half-sibling, a son, was born but then disowned later on in his life. This child was not spoken of in your family, so by the time your father was born no one knew he had existed. The line continued with one single child each generation until Miss Williamson, who had no children. Two years ago she had her solicitor, the Cameron Selley who sent you the letter, dig into her family tree, and that was how she discovered the fork in her family tree and thus you, the last remaining biological relative.” He drank some of his own tea. “I’ve had it all traced myself through the genealogical history department at our offices, so I can assure you it’s solid. You are Miss Williamson’s sole heir.”

She was just as stunned now as she was when she read the letter. This was such big news, and it could mean such a huge change in her life. In _their_ lives, she thought as she turned to Sherlock, who seemed to be lost in thought as he sipped his tea by the window. She turned back to her brother-in-law. “Should I accept the money and manor and all that?”

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t,” Mycroft said thoughtfully. “I mean, Sherlock is getting a sizeable inheritance once Mummy and Father die. It won’t put you on quite equal footing, as you’ll be vastly more wealthy but—”

There was a clatter of china from Sherlock’s direction. “Her being wealthier than me doesn’t matter,” Sherlock said, glaring at his brother. “If she wants to take the inheritance, if she doesn’t, I don’t care. I just want to make sure there’s nothing detrimental to her in all this. Something doesn’t seem right. That’s why I asked you to look into this.”

Mycroft studied his brother, and after a moment Molly did too. There was an air of tightly controlled annoyance about Sherlock. No…anger. He was angry. At Mycroft? Or…at her, perhaps? She didn’t _want_ him to be angry, not over this. She was very much ready to chuck it all away if it would make him happy, to be honest. Like him, she got the feeling that something was slightly off in this. But if it all seemed above board that Mycroft could tell, perhaps they were both mistaken. After a moment Mycroft nodded. “I’ll dig deeper, then. Give it more than a cursory look.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock said with a curt nod.

“Keep in mind I’m doing this for Molly, not you,” he said, setting down his cup and saucer and standing, adjusting his suit and tie. “I’ll get back to you before the tenth so you can make plans.”

“Thank you, Mycroft,” Molly said, setting her tea down and then standing to kiss his cheek. He flushed slightly at that and then left the sitting room. After a moment she moved over to her husband and stood behind him, sliding her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek to his back. “Talk to me, Sherlock.”

“Something about this all just seems…off,” he said, setting his tea on the windowsill and embracing her arms. “The solicitor wants you to go there rather than coming to London to tell you himself. You have to stay for two weeks after the will is read before you can claim your inheritance. It just seems…fishy.”

“I thought the same thing,” she said. “Perhaps there’s some big mystery to solve and the whole reason I have to stay is for you to solve it.”

“That had been my thought,” he said. “It was rather well reported when we got married.”

“Yes, it was,” she said. “If she looked into her family history two years ago she would have known about me by the time the wedding took place, since it was less than four months ago.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Do you…regret it?” he asked quietly, so quietly she almost didn’t hear him.

“Regret marrying you?” she asked, her voice aghast as she pulled away to turn him around to face her. “No! Never. Not for one single minute. Not for one second…no, not for one _nanosecond_ do I regret marrying you.” She reached up and framed his face in her hands, caressing it gently. “I have loved you for years, even when I shouldn’t have, and when you finally admitted you loved me back you made me the happiest woman on earth. I love you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, with all my heart, and nothing and no one will make me feel any differently.” She leaned in and kissed him softly, or at least tried to, but he pulled her against him and deepened the kiss, and moments later they began backing towards the bedroom. She hoped that one day these moods would lessen and disappear and that he’d fully realise just how much she loved him, but for now, she’d convince him at every turn until he got it into his head that she loved him forever, always and forever.


	3. Chapter 3

Mary and John had invited Sherlock and Molly over to dinner the evening after Mycroft visited them. It had been a bit of a mad dash getting ready, as the two of them had wanted to linger in bed as much as possible, but they made it there in time. Thankfully it wasn’t one of Mary’s impromptu dinner parties and was just the four of them and Kathryn, and so they were able to share the news and get their friends honest reactions. They were every bit as excited over the news as she expected them to be and every bit as wary as well. 

They were all in the kitchen cleaning up, Mary and Molly nursing glasses of wine as John and Sherlock put the food away and did the dishes. “So you have to show up in the middle of the month and then stay two weeks, and _then_ everything is yours?” she asked before sipping her wine.

Molly nodded. “I guess my great-aunt threw a Halloween party for the people in the village and I have to do the same, or be there for it or something. Then when it’s over everything will be transferred to me and I’m free to leave.” She had some of her wine. “Mycroft said it all seemed legitimate. The solicitor really is a solicitor and the woman really is my blood relative. Or was, I mean.”

“Can you take that much time away?” John asked.

“Well, Rowledge isn’t that far away,” she said. “I suppose I could contact the solicitor to see if I have to spend every waking moment there.”

“You probably will,” Sherlock said. “I doubt they would have stipulated you stay there for two weeks if they didn’t want you there the entire time.”

“That is true, I suppose,” she said. “But, I mean, if I’m going to inherit that much money I won’t really _need_ my post afterward, will I?”

Sherlock dropped a dish with a clatter. “ _I_ need you to have your post,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to have to go through any of those simpletons you train. They’re all imbeciles.”

She gave him a fond smile. “Well, if I show Stamford the letter and the stipulation of the will I’m sure he’ll agree. I doubt they want to lose me, to be honest. Most people don’t want to work with you anyway.” John snorted a laugh and that and Mary grinned as Sherlock gave her a look. “Don’t give me that look, dear. I adored you enough to marry you, remember?”

The look softened. “That is true, I suppose.”

“It is very true,” she said, leaning in and kissing him softly. He relaxed after a moment, reaching to pull her closer.

“Do you remember when we were like that, John?” Mary asked with a fond smile. “Always snogging and not caring who saw?”

“Vaguely,” he said with a grin of his own. “Those were the good old days.”

Mary picked up a dish towel and threw it at her husband. “Mind how you throw around the word ‘old,’ mister,” she said, though her grin had gotten wider.

John chuckled as he picked the dish towel up off the floor and came over to his wife. “You’ll never be old, dear,” he said, giving her a quick kiss. Then he looked over at Sherlock and Molly. “Whenever it is you two come up for air, I have a suggestion.”

Molly pulled away from Sherlock, blushing slightly. “Oh, I’m…um…I’m sorry. Got a bit…carried away.”

“You’re still in the newlywed stage,” Mary said. “At least you didn’t find out you were pregnant at the wedding like _some_ of us.”

“We took care to make sure that didn’t happen,” Sherlock said.

“So you don’t want children?” John asked, tilting his head.

“Not for at least a year,” Sherlock said. “But…if it does happen, it happens. We just wanted to make very sure it didn’t happen _before_ the wedding.”

“I’m glad you have that attitude,” Mary said. “Not that I don’t love Kathryn but I’d rather hoped to have her a bit later in my marriage.”

“Well, anyway, John,” Molly said. “What was your idea?”

“I have a bit of paid leave coming up,” he said. “I can see about timing it to the time you have to be at the manor. Provided Sherlock doesn’t get any major cases, he and I can go back to working together, poking around and seeing what’s what, because something isn’t sitting quite right with me about all this. You are two of my best friends and I want to make sure neither of you are hurt.”

“I’d be pleased if you did that,” Sherlock said, turning to Molly, who nodded. “But only if it’s all right with your wife.”

“It’s not some old, decrepit, run down manor, is it?” Mary asked Molly.

Molly shook her head. “From what I understand, it’s actually well maintained and rather nice. The old manor house burned down a while back so it’s a more modern dwelling now at a different spot on the property.”

“Well then, if you don’t mind having us, I think that would be fine,” Mary said with a nod. “You said we have to be there on the 15th?”

“Yes,” Molly said. “The reading of the will is in the afternoon. We’re planning on trying to get there the evening of the 14th.”

“Then we’ll be ready the morning of the 14th,” John said.

“Good,” Molly said, giving the two of them a smile while moving closer to Sherlock. She felt better now that her friends were coming because she, too, felt that something was a bit fishy in all of this. She wasn’t quite sure what gave her that feeling since everything seemed to be legitimate, but still. It was there and she couldn’t quite shake it, so having friends close would be a tremendous comfort.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](http://details.cwideonline.net/hmsdet/37835_FNM140264_DOC_00.PDF) is the home that Forsythe Manor is based off of, BTW.

They agreed to take separate cars on the trip to Rowledge. She had never been there before and she learned all she could about the village before the trip. It was on the Surrey-Hampshire border, and it was an ecclesiastical parish that was created in 1869 from parts of Farnham, Frensham and some very tiny amount of Binstead parishes. Not all of the village was in Surrey; St James’ Church, a few homes and Rowledge Primary School were all in Hampshire, and she gathered that the two-county arrangement was very peculiar. The neighbouring villages included Wrecclesham, Spreakley, and Frensham. The Alice Holt Forest was to the south west of the village, and to the west of the village was Birdworld. 

There was a bit to learn about the village itself. It had a Village Hall where all sorts of events took place, as far as she could tell: beavers, cubs and scouts, ballet, drama and art for children and exercise classes, dance lessons, badminton, art and amateur dramatics for the adults. There was a shopping area with quite a few amenities; a butcher and a newsagent and a hairdresser, as well as a post office and convenience store. There were quite a few local societies, sports clubs and social activities that went on, and there was the Rowledge Village Fayre each year on Spring Bank Holiday Monday which sounded like great fun. And as for the people who lived there, there were a lot of commuters in the village, which had a rather small population, just over 1500 residents, and almost a quarter of them were retired. All in all, it actually sounded like a rather lovely place. She found herself wondering how her great-aunt had fit in, what kind of woman she was, what reputation she would have to live up to. 

The closer she and Sherlock got to Forsythe Manor the more nervous she became. Soon, as evening was settling, she saw them approaching a gravel driveway that had shrubs and flowers at the boundaries. She couldn’t see the manor from there, until Sherlock turned down the driveway and soon she saw the gates outside the detached garage. He rolled down the window of their rented car and then leaned over and pressed the button at the intercom. After a moment there was a crackle. “Yes?” she heard a man with a rather nasally voice ask.

“Mrs. Holmes, her husband and her guests are here,” Sherlock said as the headlights of John and Mary’s car came into view behind them.

“Excellent. I’ll open the gate,” the man on the other side of the intercom said. After a moment the gates opened and Sherlock drove forward with John and Mary right behind them. They drove further in to just outside the garage, and after a moment a tall man with a rather gaunt expression came out from the pathway next to it. “Mrs. Holmes?” he asked as Molly got out of the car.

“Um, that would be me,” Molly said, raising her hand slightly.

He gave her a smile that, instead of making him look creepier made him look rather more normal. She thought that was quite odd. “I am your butler, Tobias Penton.” He bowed slightly at the waist. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure to meet you too,” she said, giving him a smile when he straightened up. Sherlock came around to her. “This is my husband, Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock inclined his head towards the butler. “Hello,” he said.

“Hello, sir,” Tobias said.

John and Mary came around moments later, Mary carrying Kathryn on her hip. “And these are my friend John and Mary Watson and their daughter Kathryn.”

“Hello,” John said with a slight wave while Kathryn buried her head in the crook of Mary’s neck.

“She’s a bit shy,” Mary said with a smile.

Tobias’s eyes softened when he saw Kathryn. “She’s a very lovely little girl,” he said.

“Thank you,” Mary said. “You are…?”

“Tobias Penton, the butler,” he said. “Anything any of you may need during your stay here, just ask.”

“We will,” Sherlock said with a nod.

“I will have your luggage seen to but I imagine you all would like something to eat, as it’s nearly supper time,” Tobias said. “We had expected you later, but if you don’t mind partaking of the same meal the staff is having, we have plenty.”

“What is it?” Molly asked.

“Gardner’s Pie and sesame rolls,” he said. “It’s a twist on Shepherd’s Pie that are supposed to be made in individual servings but our cook adjusted the recipe to make it into large batches for the household staff. It has turnips and kale but don’t let that turn you off. It is an excellent dish.”

“I’ll admit I was too nervous to eat earlier so I’m starving,” Molly said. “I’d love some.”

“I’m game to try it,” John said.

Mary nodded. “Why not?”

“I suppose,” Sherlock said.

“Excellent. Then I’ll let Pamela know. If you will follow me, I will escort you to the dining room. And, as Mrs. Holmes has let us know there was a young child to be staying here, we have a high chair ready for her.” He gestured to the walkway. “If you’ll all follow me?”

“You’ve thought of everything,” Mary said as she walked in step with Molly behind John and Sherlock.

“Well, I thought it should be one less thing you and John had to lug in the car,” Molly said with a smile.

“This place looks beautiful, and I’ve just seen the garage,” Mary said. “It’s not at all what I was expecting.”

“I know,” Molly said. “I was thinking it might be…run down a bit, or at the very least unkempt or a bit spooky. But it looks…” The house came into view at that point, all lit up, and Mary and Molly both stopped, looking at it with mouths agape. “Gorgeous,” she finished quietly.

“And just think, this is going to be yours,” Mary said with a smile.

“Yeah, I know,” Molly said, grinning. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was just slightly off. Still, she didn’t want to let it ruin her curious mood. They were ushered inside and she was struck by how warm and homey the place looked. She glanced around and, while she didn’t see pictures of a personal sort anywhere, she did see all sorts of what she suspected were other mementos. “Umm…Tobias?” she asked, moving closer to the butler.

“Yes, Mrs. Holmes?”

“Exactly what did my great-aunt do?” she asked. “For a living, I mean?”

“She was, for lack of a better term, a medium,” he said simply.

Molly’s eyes widened. “Oh,” she said quietly.

Sherlock scoffed. “She really thought she could speak to ghosts?” he said.

“It wasn’t that she thought she could,” Tobias said with the air of someone who was used to people not believing him. “It was simply that she could.”

“Impossible,” Sherlock said. “It’s delusion.”

“You’ll see,” he said quietly, so quietly Molly was almost unsure of whether he’d said it at all. But after a moment he opened a door. “The dining room.” They stepped inside and looked at the small table. It was not a formal dining room, but Molly liked that. There was a fireplace at one end of the room, set in a stone faced wall, and there were a set of doors that led outside to the gardens, she gathered. There were seats around the wall facing those doors that had cushions so they could lounge in the room after dinner if they chose, opening the doors and letting the night air in. The table seated six people, though one of the chairs was pulled back away from the table and a high chair was in its place. The more Molly took the room in, the more she liked it. Tobias led Molly to a chair. “This was Miss Williamson’s chair,” he said as he pulled it out for her.

“Thank you,” she said, sitting at one end of the table.

Sherlock sat at the opposite end of the table, with John next to him. Mary sat next to her and Kathryn was in the high chair across from John. Sherlock leaned forward and steepled his fingers in front of his face, placing his elbows on the table. “I want to dig into Miss Williamson’s background more tomorrow,” he said. “Mycroft should have everything on her by then. I want to make sure that no one comes after the fortune by accusing your great-aunt of being a fraud.”

“But of course you think that’s what she was,” Mary said.

“Well, obviously,” Sherlock said.

“Can’t you just realise there are a few things in this world that defy explanation?” Mary asked.

Sherlock considered that for a moment. “Perhaps,” he conceded. “But not that. Dead is dead. There is nothing after you die.”

“Maybe there is,” Molly said. “Maybe there’s _something_ there.”

He looked at her with wide eyes before shaking his head. “I don’t believe it.”

“I see,” she said quietly, looking down. This was something that had never really come up in all the time they’d known each other. She believed in Heaven and Hell, in guardian angels and the like. She could, perhaps, believe in people reaching out from beyond the grave to talk to those they had left behind. And if he couldn’t believe that, if he couldn’t entertain that notion for even a second, then that meant that there was a rather fundamental difference between them. She just hoped it wasn’t something that would drive a wedge between them.


	5. Chapter 5

The next afternoon Sherlock and John went into the village to nose around and Mary took Kathryn into the gardens to play, having been told by Tobias that Miss Williamson had had a play area built for the children of the staff to use near a grove of trees, and that he was sure that even a child as young as Kathryn could find some enjoyment there, so Molly had been left to attend the reading of the will on her own. When she was led into the drawing room, she was quite surprised to find that Cameron Selley was an older woman, with graying red hair and a plump figure and a rather motherly countenance who gave Molly a warm smile. “I’m quite pleased you came,” she said.

Molly nodded, giving a small smile back. “Well, it came as a surprise, but it did check out.”

“Oh yes, I know,” Cameron said with a chuckle. “I found it quite interesting to be thoroughly investigated by the British government. Though your brother-in-law’s reputation for making sure no harm comes to his family precedes him so I was expecting that.” She gestured to the seats in the room, which were filled with various members of the household staff Molly had been introduced to the night before and this morning. “I do hope you don’t mind that I’m pulling your staff away from their duties. Venecia cared for them as her own family, you see. She wanted to make sure they were taken care of.”

“It’s all right,” Molly said. “Are they the only people who will be here?” 

Cameron nodded. “Yes. Towards the end…well, Venecia trusted few people outside her household staff. I was one of the fortunate ones. Everyone who needs to be here is here, so I suppose we can begin.” Molly nodded and then went to sit in one of the chairs. Cameron went to the table which had been brought in from another room and looked at the documents on it, beginning to read from them. Molly listened carefully. According to what she heard, the entire estate went to her, but Venecia asked her, out of kindness, to keep the staff on and to see that each member of the staff got certain mementos, keepsakes and remembrances from her. It was a rather lengthy list, and Molly hoped that she could remember it all. At the end Cameron paused. “In addition to all that has been given to my great-niece, I ask her to continue the traditional Halloween party for the village. It has been my honor to continue the tradition and I hope it is one she will continue to fulfill for many years to come.”

“I don’t see why I can’t,” Molly said when everyone turned to her. “I know this year's is already planned, isn’t it?”

“Some of it,” the housekeeper, Helen Peel, said. She was a tall woman with bobbed black hair, a severe stare and piercing grey eyes. “The rest of the decisions need to be made by you.”

“All right then,” Molly said. “I’ll make those decisions and the party will go on as usual.”

“Excellent!” Cameron said. “It’s always an excellent bash. Well then, Mrs. Holmes. If you’ll indeed be keeping the staff on as your great-aunt requested, I’m sure we can go over the rest of the business privately.”

“I don’t think I’ll have a problem with that, provided I can speak to Mr. Penton and Mrs. Peel about their opinions?” Molly said.

Tobias nodded and the sternness in Helen’s gaze softened slightly. “I think that would be fine,” she replied.

“Then it’s settled,” Cameron said with a nod. “I’ll go over the particulars with Mrs. Holmes, and we’ll start getting the things Venecia wanted all of you to have shortly.” The household staff filed out of the room and Cameron came to sit near Molly. “Now, I know in the letter it stated you needed to be here for the two weeks. You don’t have to stay on the grounds the entire time; I know you have a career in London and all.”

Molly waved her hand. “I have leave to be here, though I was going to ask about a court appearance on the twenty-third.”

“By all means, make sure you’re there. No point in letting a guilty person walk free because you couldn’t give testimony,” Cameron said with a smile. “Now, this will was written last month. I believe Venecia knew she would die before Halloween. She…had a way of knowing things.”

“Mr. Penton said she could speak to the dead,” Molly said.

Cameron scoffed slightly. “I think she was very good at picking up cues when it came to that. But there was a sense she would get, that things would happen. That I knew I could rely on. And I think she sensed she would die before Halloween, so she set this up in advance. Now, it will take time for all of the accounts to transfer over, but that should be done no later than the first of November. I have the names and numbers of her financial advisors and accountants, which I will give to you, as well as the solicitor she used for business matters.”

Cameron went over more of the specific matters, but soon Molly’s head was swimming in all the details that she was going over. Cameron appeared to notice this and said they could talk more later in the week and that Mr. Penton and Mrs. Peel could help her distribute the inheritances to the rest of the staff at a later time. Molly left the drawing room and made her way back upstairs to the master bedroom on the first floor, which overlooked the conservatory. She was told that was not the bedroom Venecia had chosen to use while she lived there; she had taken a bedroom on the second floor, surprisingly. Molly had yet to view it, but she had the feeling she would need to soon. She liked this room, though, and would be fine with making it the room she used when she stayed there.

She went to the bed and laid down on it, shutting her eyes. It was quite comfortable, and she found herself drifting off to sleep almost immediately, which was rather unusual, as she wasn’t the type to sleep during the day. She was plunged into a rather vivid dream, though, where she was running through woods, running away from something, something that was getting closer. It came in flashes with a different dream, involving finding a chest and opening it. And the whole time she could hear a man with the most alluring voice calling her name.

She awoke with a start when she felt a hand on her shoulder in the dream where she was being chased. Her eyes flew open and she looked up to see Sherlock sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at her with concern on her face. “Are you all right?” he asked. “You were tossing and turning. Whimpering as well.”

“Bad dream,” she said, sitting up. She shut her eyes for a moment but the dream images faded away likes mirages in the desert. She opened them again and gave Sherlock a smile. “Did you find out anything interesting?”

“Your great-aunt was well liked in the village,” he said. “Aside from a few who thought she might be a little off she was well respected and has been quite missed.” He paused. “But it seems your entire family has a reputation of being…weird. They all seem to have been gifted with this so-called ability to speak to the dead.”

“Maybe there’s more to it than just being a scam,” she said thoughtfully.

“I doubt it,” he said. She looked down at that. “You believe in it?”

“I believe there could be _something_ out there, yes,” she said. “Science can’t explain everything.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Then I promise I’ll try and temper my scepticism around you,” he said, setting a hand on her thigh, at the hem of her dress.

“Thank you,” she said. “I would appreciate it.”

“Were there any mysteries for me to solve?” he asked, massaging the muscles in her leg slightly.

She shook her head. “Everything seemed straightforward. And I don’t have to be here the entire time, apparently, though if I’m to plan the Halloween party I should be.”

“Well, as we didn’t get a proper honeymoon, perhaps we could consider this ours,” he said, inching his hand up slightly.

She grinned. “Oh no. You still owe me a proper honeymoon with sandy beaches and days where we don’t leave a hotel room and _no murders_ ,” she said with a smile, reaching over and undoing the top button of his shirt. “But I could consider this a nice little vacation.”

“I suppose one day I’ll get around to it,” he said.

“ _Before_ I’m old and grey,” Sherlock,” she said, leaning in towards him. He leaned in to meet her partway and kissed her passionately as he slid his hand up to her hip, taking the skirt of her dress up with it before beginning to caress her body some more. She knew eventually they would; he had promised, after all, and he always kept his promises. That was how she knew he’d try and be less of a sceptic around her as well. When Sherlock Holmes made a promise, he did his absolute best to keep it. That was just one of the many things she loved about him.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning she awoke a bit more disoriented than she had been when she had taken the nap the day before. She’d had the dream again, or rather dreams, though apparently there hadn’t been as much tossing and turning or whimpering as she hadn’t woken up her husband, and Sherlock was a notoriously light sleeper. She wondered at the dreams, at what they meant. She’d never had them before, and then to have them twice since arriving? It seemed strange.

She found that Sherlock was awake and stroking her hair back, as he did most mornings, and she smiled before snuggling into him. “Good morning,” she said.

“I had hoped you’d wake up before I needed to depart,” he said, stopping the motion with his hand and pressing a kiss into her hair.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Lestrade texted me an hour ago. There’s a case he needs my assistance on. I tried to beg off, but...”

“But the great Sherlock Holmes is brilliant, and Greg needs that brilliance,” she said, rolling over to face him.

“It’s not my fault he’s in over his head,” Sherlock replied. “I’ll try and come back tonight. I don’t want to leave you alone here.”

“I know. You still don’t trust this situation,” she said.

“No, I don’t,” he replied. “But I’ll have John and Mary stay here. They can keep you safe. After all, who would win against an ex-soldier and an ex-assassin? Especially since I know they both came armed.”

“Because you told them to?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I might have suggested it would be the prudent thing to do,” he said slowly.

She shook her head and then pushed Sherlock onto his back, hovering over him slightly. “Go back to London and solve Greg’s case for him as quickly as you can. We’ll be fine, alright?” She leaned in and kissed him softly. “Go be brilliant there and then come back and warm my bed for me and dazzle me with the story of the case.”

He gave her an amused grin. “So that’s all I’m good for? Shagging and amusing case stories?”

“You’re handsome to look at, too,” she said with a smirk.

He reached up and pulled her in for another kiss, a more lengthy one this time, and she might almost have let him take things further if his mobile hadn’t beeped with a text message. He reluctantly pulled away from the kiss and reached over for his mobile, reading the text. “I think I’ve waited too long,” he said with a sigh. “I need to go.”

“Be careful, all right,” she said as a sense of unease came over her.

“I’ll be as careful as I always am,” he said.

“No,” she said, shaking her head as her grip tightened on his forearms slightly. “Be _more_ careful than you usually are. Promise me, Sherlock, alright?”

He set his mobile down and reached up, brushing her hair back and tucking it behind her ear, letting his fingers brush her face gently. “I will, Molly. I promise.” He tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled her down for one more kiss before he disentangled himself from her and got out of bed, beginning to get ready to leave. She watched, the sense of unease settling on her like a dead weight. He kept glancing at her, a frown settling on her face. Finally, he stopped. “Is something the matter, Molly?”

“I just...have a feeling, that maybe you should take John with you. Just to be safe.” He opened his mouth to protest and she shook her head, getting out of bed and moving over towards him. “Humour me, Sherlock. I’ll be safe enough with Mary here, you know that. She’s a better shot than John anyway.”

“Then maybe I should take her with me,” he said in a teasing tone.

Molly shook her head, placing her hands on Sherlock’s bare chest. “Please, don’t joke,” she said quietly.

Sherlock got serious. “Molly, are you all right?” he asked, placing his hands on her waist.

“I know you aren’t one for gut feelings or anything of the sort. I know you scoff at the whole idea of the intuition my great-aunt might have had, but...I think something could go horribly wrong today,” she said. I just have this gnawing feeling on my insides that you’re going to get hurt and I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you. I just...I couldn’t bear it, Sherlock.”

He slid his hands around until he was holding her tightly. “I’ll take John with me,” he said, his lips by her ear, and then he moved is head to press a kiss in her hair. “And I will be extra careful today. No foolish or rash behaviour on my part, I promise.” 

“Thank you,” she said, sliding her arms up around his neck. She stood there, holding him for a few minutes, feeling the sudden unease inside of her lessen just a bit. It was still there, but it wasn’t such a cold, leaden weight inside her. Eventually she let go so he could finish getting ready and when he left she got ready herself. She stayed in the room a bit, fiddling around on her mobile for a time, but eventually went downstairs to see about breakfast.

She found breakfast laid out in the dining room, and Mary and Kathryn already there, taking advantage of the selection. “I didn’t think you’d come down,” Mary said. “I thought I was going to get to enjoy my husband’s company this morning but Sherlock said there was a case.”

Molly nodded as she went to select her food. “Yes,” she said quietly.

Mary studied her. “He said you had a feeling things might not go well today,” she said slowly.

“Yes,” Molly replied.

“Like...your great-aunt’s types of feelings?” she prodded.

“I won’t know that unless things go wrong,” Molly said.

“Let’s hope they don’t,” Mary said. “You don’t look like you got a decent night’s sleep.”

“Bad dreams,” Molly said.

“Not a good thing,” Mary replied. Mary took her food to the table. “You know, unlike our husbands, _I’m_ not a sceptic. I’ve been enough places and seen enough things to know there’s more to this world than meets the eye. If there’s a spirit world out there that uses people like your great aunt to talk to the likes of us, I don’t discount it.”

“That’s good to know,” Molly said, relaxing a little.

“And if they talk to us in other ways, maybe it’s worth digging into,” she continued. “What _do_ you know about your great-aunt?”

“Not much,” Molly admitted. Just what Sherlock and John found out in the village and what I learned from the staff that I talked to.”

“So you don’t know much about your lineage on this side of the family, either, I take it?” Mary asked as Molly brought her plate to the table and Mary got back up to get food for Kathryn.

Molly shook her head. “Just what Mycroft found out,” she said.

“Might not hurt to do some research,” Mary said. “Learn the family lore and all.”

“That’s a good idea,” Molly said, thinking back to the fragments of dreams she remembered. “I’m sure there’s got to be things in the library that would help.”

“And maybe in your Great-Aunt Venecia’s room as well,” Mary said. “Aren’t you supposed to go in there to start parsing out personal belongings today?”

“Yes, with Helen,” Molly said with a nod.

“Might be worth it to look for diaries and such,” Mary said. “Get an idea of what she was like and what you might be in for.”

“That might not be a bad idea,” Molly said thoughtfully as she began to eat her breakfast. She had to admit, ever since she had come to the property and started to have the dreams, she had noticed she had felt...different. Maybe something was happening to her. Maybe knowing more about her family history would help. At the very least, more information certainly couldn’t hurt.


	7. Chapter 7

She wasn’t quite sure what she had expected when she went into her great-aunt’s bedroom. Even after everything she had heard about the woman, she still didn’t feel as though she really _knew_ her. She was a good woman, a kind woman, loving in her own way, she knew that, but other than that, she really didn’t know much about her. So going into her bedroom allowed her to learn more about the woman.

Venecia’s bedroom was the only bedroom on the second floor. It was rather small compared to some of the other bedrooms in the manor, Molly noted when Helen opened the door. It wasn’t garishly furnished, instead being nicely furnished in a rather understated Victorian theme. There was a four-poster bed in the room with drapes and that seemed to be the most ostentatious piece of furniture in the entire room; everything else was quite sedate compared to that.

“Your great-aunt had a rather plain taste for her personal furnishings,” Helen said, looking around the room wistfully. 

“Did you spend a lot of time in here?” Molly asked.

“Towards the end, yes,” Helen said with a nod. “She had a personal assistant for a time but the woman was...let’s just say she was in it for her own ends, and while Venecia had put up with it for a while when she knew her end was near she cut her loose.”

“That’s horrible!” Molly said, her eyes wide.

“That she cut her loose?” Helen asked, raising an eyebrow.

Molly shook her head. “No, that my great-aunt was being used,” she said.

Helen relaxed slightly. “She was used to it. She knew who was out to try and fleece her for her money and who was out to simply get close to her for peace of mind. The personal assistant was one of the latter. Venecia gave her the peace of mind she sought and then sent her off with a good reference and relied more heavily upon me for day-to-day tasks, until the end.” Helen looked at the checklist in her hand. “I know where most of these items are. I can help find them faster. I suppose you can rummage through the rest of her things.”

“You...don’t like me much, do you?” Molly asked.

Helen pursed her lips slightly. “It’s simply that I don’t know you or know your intentions. The fact that you didn’t dismiss the household en masse is a plus in your direction, but I am holding my breath to see how you fare with the party and everything else. Even if you choose not to stay here, you could sell the property and our jobs could be on the line. Or...other things could happen.”

“Such as?” Molly asked curiously.

“Not everyone is welcomed here,” she said offhandedly. She tapped her pen on the clipboard that held the checklist. “I should start finding the items.” 

Molly watched as she began moving around the room, and then after a moment she did the same, moving towards the desk. It seemed to be neat and tidy, not a paper out of place, and Molly began to carefully rummage through it to see if she could find any personal diaries or anything that might show Venecia’s thoughts over her time living here. She didn’t find anything like that at the desk so she moved to the bookshelves in the room. There were all sorts of lovely books there, many of them old but also some bodice ripper romances which brought a smile to her face. She and her great-aunt had similar tastes in literature, she noticed as she saw her aunt had all the Cynster novels in her collection as well as other novels by quite a few romance novelists she read on a regular basis. She had the feeling she might pop up here to borrow a few if she got bored during her stay.

When she didn’t see anything that looked like diaries she moved towards the bed and inspected the nightstands. She opened the drawers and found that she had hit the jackpot when she opened a cabinet underneath one of them. It looked as though there was a stack of fifteen diaries, all piled neatly. She carefully pulled out the top on and saw it had ended a year prior, and she flipped through it to see it was a dream diary. She set it back on the stack and began looking for the most recent dream diary when her mobile began to ring. She pulled it out and answered it when she saw it was Mary. “Hey,” she said when she answered. “You’ll never guess what I found.”

“Sherlock got shot,” Mary said.

Molly felt her insides go cold. “What?” she said, nearly dropping her mobile.

“Before you panic, it’s just a graze, really. There’s no bullet lodged in him because John pulled him out of the way. But yes, Sherlock was involved in a shooting. He’s been patched up and he’s on his way back but you were right, Molly. You were right that something was going to go wrong and you were right that John should have gone with him.”

Molly gripped her mobile tightly. “If John hadn’t been with him...” she began.

“If John hadn’t been with him, he’d be dead,” Mary said quietly.

Molly fell from her squatting position onto her arse with a thump, and after a moment Helen came around to the bed, her eyes wide. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“My husband was shot at,” Molly said, her hand holding her mobile lowering slightly.

“Oh good lord,” Helen said. “Is he all right?”

Molly nodded. “Yes.”

“You’re in shock,” Helen said. She took the mobile out of Molly’s hand and talked to Mary for a few moments before coming back to Molly and moving her so her back was against the bed. She knelt in front of her and studied her for a few moments and then grasped Molly’s hand. “You had a premonition, didn’t you?” she said sympathetically.

“I felt...I felt that something bad would happen,” Molly said.

“You have inherited Venecia’s gift, I think,” Helen said. “Have you had dreams?” Molly looked at her sharply. “Ah. You have.”

“What’s going on?” Molly asked.

“My position has been passed down from generation to generation, as has Tobias’s. Our families have served your families for many many years. We help guide the bearer of the gift. It’s our job, along with the household duties.” She gestured to the dream journals. “Those will help, but there are far more detailed journals that will be more informative in the library. When you are more collected. I will show you.”

Molly nodded weakly, drawing strength from their clasped hands. She had the feeling that her life had lurched into something entirely different in a single instant, and she wasn’t entirely sure she was ready for it. But she was also entirely sure she didn’t have a choice.


	8. Chapter 8

Helen only left Molly’s side to get Mary, and when Molly was okay again the three women went to the parlor, where Helen told Tobias to get tea for the four of them because they needed to have The Talk, placing heavy emphasis on the words. Tobias gave her a firm nod and a short time later the tea service was brought in and tea was served to all three women while Kathryn crawled on the floor. When Tobias was done, he took a cup for himself and settled into a chair, looking over at Helen. “So she has Venecia’s gift?” he asked.

“She knew something was going to happen to her husband today,” Helen said before taking a sip of her tea. “He would have died if she hadn’t persuaded him to take Mr. Watson with him.

He nodded slowly, then turned to Molly. “It’s a bit unsettling at first. I wasn’t here when Venecia got her powers. I was just a young boy and I didn’t understand it all. It was a long time before it was explained to me, when I came back from university and took my position in the household. But Venecia and I spoke about it, when she knew that her time was coming and you weren’t already like her. She wanted us to know what to expect.”

“I know from what my mother told me,” Helen said. “I believe the way it worked with Venecia, and the way it has with most members of your family, is the premonitions come first. Then, later, the ability to talk to spirits. It manifests differently with different members of the family. Some can see and interact with the ghosts of the departed. Some can only speak to them while in a trance-like state. Some can only speak to them while they’re asleep. As you’ve had what seem to be unusual dreams, that may be the way they communicate with you.”

Molly nodded slowly, trying to take this in. They were speaking so matter-of-factly and she was just so shell-shocked at it all. “So...I’m not normal?” she asked, ignoring the tea in her hands.

“Venecia used to say she was special,” Tobias said gently. “That she was given these gifts for the betterment of the human race. And that was what she used them for. The money comes from the investments and the lands, not from any money made hawking her gifts. She could have gone on the telly and pitched herself as a psychic if she had chosen to, but she used her gifts in ways that helped people. She was very exclusive in who she helped, mostly choosing to assist those in law enforcement who were willing to listen to her.”

Molly’s eyes widened. “What?” she asked, surprised.

Helen nodded. “She was a mystery buff, I suppose you could say,” she said with a sad smile. “She wanted to help sole crimes and murders and the like, and so she offered a discrete service to detectives all over the world. She sometimes offered her services to families of the victims, but that was rarer and she never took payment for those sessions. Not everything that happened in those sessions brought peace.” She had some more of her tea. “When she found out you worked with Scotland Yard she felt an exceptional burst of pride. I think she had hopes that if anything happened to her and you inherited her gifts, you might continue what she did, in some measure.”

Molly nodded again, looking down at her tea. She wasn’t sure she could do exactly what her aunt did, not if she kept her position at Barts, but...depending on how this impacted her, she could perhaps incorporate aspects of it into her career. She could use it to help herself, or help Sherlock, if he ever admitted that she even _had_ any special extra powers.

The thought of her husband made her gut clench and her grip faltered on her tea cup slightly. Tea sloshed over the side and Mary set her own cup and saucer on the table and then got up and took Molly’s away from her, setting it on the table before grasping her hands in hers. “He’s alive,” she said soothingly. “He’ll be home as soon as he sorts things out with Lestrade and the Yard and John gets done kicking his arse ten ways to Sunday for being an idiot.”

“I know,” Molly said.

“Perhaps we can provide some distraction until then,” Tobias said. “I’m sure you’ve realised, with the layout of the manor, that there’s a significant amount of space on the second floor next to Venecia’s room. Her bedroom is generally the master bedroom because there’s a hidden panel that leads to a private library of the type of things you and Mrs. Watson had hoped to find this morning.” Molly and Mary both looked over at him and he looked a bit embarrassed. “I overheard your conversation in the dining room. I think you both could make yourselves at home going through it until your husbands return from London.”

Molly nodded. “That might be a good idea,” she said. “Anything to get my mind off of thinking about what might have happened.”

“Very well, then,” Helen said. “After tea, I’ll show you how to access the room, and then leave the two of you be until Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson return. We can keep an eye on Kathryn while you work and feed her an evening meal. Unless you’d like to be called down for supper?”

Mary looked at Molly. “It’s probably best to come down. Check up on Kathryn and all.”

“That sounds acceptable,” Molly said. She squeezed Mary’s hands once and then pulled her hands out of Mary’s grip to get her tea to take a sip. Distraction was good. Distraction and learning about what all of this would mean for her life was exceedingly good, she thought to herself. But the sooner she saw for herself that her husband was indeed alive and well the better she would feel.


	9. Chapter 9

It had been quite late when Mary and Molly were roused from the private library for supper, due to a mix up with the regular delivery from the grocer. Apparently the delivery had been late and the fact that there were extra people at the manor had been forgotten in the order and there wasn’t quite enough food, so Tobias had had to go into the village to get more food and correct the mistake for an extra delivery the next day, all of which meant a delay. Mary had said that they could go ahead and prepare something for Kathryn and feed her and she’d put her down to sleep before the adults ate, and once she had done that she came back up to the second floor to join Molly again.

There was so much to go through. Molly had had no idea how far back the split in her family tree had gone, but she’d realized it had to have been at least somewhere in the 1700s when she saw the amount of material in the room. It was her entire family history on that side of the family, or at least the family history pertaining to the gift, and it was all meticulously cataloged. There was no way, even with Mary’s help, she would get through all of it in the two weeks she was at the manor house before she went back to London, but she knew she should attempt to anyway. They managed to find the start of it all fairly easily and saw that the split in the family tree had begun with a man named Byron Longfellow, and so Molly began to read his journals while Mary began to read the diaries of his daughter Moriah.

The one thing Helen had confirmed for her was what Mycroft had said, was that each generation had had only one child. She knew the line had stopped with Venecia, then, as she had not had any children, so she was surprised that she had inherited the powers. She gathered it had also surprised Helen and Tobias as well. From the way Helen had acted, Molly suspected she had believed she would get the money and the manor and that would be it. Finding that Molly had gotten the powers as well had been rather unexpected.

They worked their way diligently through the journals until dinner was ready, and then ate in the dining room by themselves as their husbands were still not back. It wasn’t obscenely late in the evening but late enough to cause Molly to begin to worry, and she excused herself, as soon as she was done eating, to retire to her bedroom to lay down. She’d been feeling tired and she felt that perhaps if she went to bed, when she woke up her husband would be there, safe and sound and she could stop worrying. The leaden weight in her stomach was still there, though not quite as heavy since she knew he was alive. She just wanted to _see_ him, touch him and know he was alive, and then she was sure it would go away completely.

She had gotten partially undressed, stripped down to her bra and knickers, when she heard the door open, she turned and saw a rather haggard looking Sherlock enter the room. He wasn’t wearing his Belstaff, suit jacket or the button down shirt he had work when he had left that morning, instead wearing a white T-shirt through which she could clearly see a bandage on his left shoulder, and his arm was in a sling. Her eyes widened when she realized John had lied to his wife. “That wasn’t a graze,” she said.

“The bullet was lodged in my shoulder,” Sherlock said, shutting the door behind him. “That’s what took so long. John didn’t want to alarm you.”

“Did he tell Mary the truth?” she said, coming over to him.

He shook his head. “I told him to tell her it was a graze, but he wouldn’t lie about me almost dying. He just _had_ to say that part.”

She ran her fingers over the bandage on his shoulder and felt herself blinking back tears. It could have been so _so_ much worse. “You...you...”

“I’m safe,” he said, using his good arm to pull her close, not caring about her state of undress. “I’m safe and I’m alive, all due to your intuition that I was in danger today.” He nestled his nose in her hair. “I will never doubt it again, I swear.”

She clung to him, standing on her toes and burying her face in the crook of his neck. “Don’t lie to me again, Sherlock. Always tell me the truth. I don’t want you keeping secrets from me. I don’t want us having that type of relationship.”

“I won’t,” he said, digging his fingers into her skin. “I promise.” He moved his head and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “I have never been more terrified than in the moment when I thought I might die. In that moment, when I was trapped, before John got to me, I thought about the things I haven’t said to you. The things we haven’t done. How little time we’ve had together.”

“Then tell me those things,” she said, pulling away slightly. “Do those things with me.” She moved her hands to frame his face in her hands and brush his cheekbones with her thumbs. “Do whatever it takes to spend the rest of your years with me, and make sure there’s as many of them as possible. Spend your forever with me.”

He nodded, and then leaned in and kissed her, a kiss that was filled with a need she had never experienced from him before, and a sense of fear she hadn’t expected to sense either. But she wasn’t sure if the fear was from him or from her, to be honest. She had come so close to losing him, closer than she wanted to admit, and when she felt his good hand slide up to the clasp of her bra to undo it she knew tonight, though it might be different than usual, would be a turning point for them. Tonight was going to bring about a change in their relationship and, perhaps, it would be a beginning of something better.


	10. Chapter 10

That evening she had the first clear dream she’d had since arriving at the manor of whatever message it was that someone on the other side was trying to get to her. She saw herself walking in the woods surrounding the manor house, heading towards an area that seemed to hold a family cemetery, and heading towards a memorial statue standing in honour of Byron Longfellow near his plot. There was a chest at the foot of it, and when she touched it she felt her own chest tighten and she bolted awake, clutching at the sheet pressed tightly to her chest.

Sherlock was awake moments later, sliding his arms around her and pressing his front against her back, resting his chin on top of her head. “Bad dream?” he murmured.

“I...yes,” she said, giving him the barest of nods.

“I said I would shelve my scepticism after yesterday,” he said, moving his head to press a kiss on her bare shoulder. “It wasn’t a regular dream, was it?”

“No. Or at least, I don’t think it was. I’m not sure,” she said, with a frown, leaning back into him. Sherlock was solid and warm and she could relax into his embrace. The sun was starting to rise and it would be time for them to wake up soon enough anyway, so at least it wasn’t terribly inconvenient that the dream had caused her to awaken so rudely. "I believe there’s a family plot on the grounds, for my older ancestors, and I dreamed I went out walking there and went to a statue and touched it and then I felt a tightness in my chest, and then I was awake.”

He nodded slightly. “And you think it might be a prophetic dream?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I couldn’t see myself in it, just the journey I was taking, the path I was walking and my surroundings.” She somewhat reluctantly pulled out of his embrace and turned to look at him. “You don’t think I’m cracking up, do you?”

He reached up and smoothed back a strand of her hair, shaking his head. “I have been forced to reexamine my opinions on the unknown in the last twenty-four hours,” he said. “If there is indeed something to this whole ‘spirits on the other side’ business and you are their conduit, then I’ll deal with that as I can. It saved my life, and I’ll be grateful for it. It may take time, but I’ll love _you_ despite any changes that may occur.” He let his fingers graze her cheek. “After all, our vows did include ‘for better or for worse,’ if you may recall. I do plan on taking those vows very seriously.”

She gave him a warm smile and leaned forward to kiss him softly. After a moment he moved his hand again to tangle his fingers in her hair and deepen the kiss before using his other hand to pull the sheet between them away and pull her on top of him. She had the feeling things were going to get quite interesting when there was a knock at the door and she pulled away from the kiss. “Yes?” she called out.

“Sorry for the intrusion, ma’am, but the solicitor, Ms. Selley, has come to call. Should I send her away?” Tobias said.

Sherlock scowled slightly. “It’s just now daybreak,” he said.

“It _is_ a bit odd to come so early and unannounced,” Molly said, frowning. Then she turned towards the door. “Did she say why she was here?” she asked, raising her voice.

“No ma’am. Just that she needed to speak with you.”

“Tell her she’s busy,” Sherlock said. “Her husband almost died last night, and she can let her imagination run wild from there.”

“Very well, sir,” Tobias said, and soon the sound of footsteps leading away from the door were heard.

“Oh, you’re incorrigible,” Molly said with a smile, turning back to him.

“But it is what you wanted, right?” he said, reaching up to caress her face.

“Mmm, yes,” she said, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Especially since I should spend most of today in the private library instead of shagging you.”

“Private library?” he asked as she moved her lips lower.

“Mmmhmm,” she said. “Next to Venecia’s bedroom. Personal records of the weird stuff my family’s been through, all the way back to Byron Longfellow. Mary and I started going through it yesterday but there’s quite a bit to go through.”

“Then John and I will help,” Sherlock said as her lips moved to the hollow of his neck and he shut his eyes. “Four heads are better than two. But...after this.”

“Oh yes,” she said, nipping at his pulse point. “I wasn’t about to let you leave this bed until I’d ravished you at least once, if not twice, if you’d recovered.”

“Until you ravished me?” he said. “I like the sound of that.”

“I thought you might,” she said before continuing to tease him. She knew that this, while enjoyable, was simply a way for her to get her mind off of the dream she’d had, a dream she feared she’d keep having until she actually made her way to the family cemetery and touched the statue and went through whatever it as she was supposed to go through. She just hoped it wasn’t lethal, or else there would be no point to all of this.


	11. Chapter 11

It seemed as though Molly was tired all the time after the first dream. Sherlock was extremely concerned, but Helen assured him that it was normal for anyone who inherited the gift as their body adjusted to the dreams and the premonitions. Molly wasn’t happy with the feelings of extreme exhaustion, especially since she was used to having so much energy, but she was at least glad that she wasn’t trying to balance her post at Barts alongside what was going on at the manor.

When she was able to maintain an awake and aware state, she was helping the others research her family history. She could see this fatigue was temporary with the other members of her family; it usually went away after their second premonition or after their first encounter with a ghost, depending on which way their particular talents ran, and she supposed she simply had to wait. But it was frustrating to spend so much time sleeping, and she found that her increasingly vivid dreams were blending into her reality. There were times she woke up roaming the manor or attempting to leave the grounds without realizing how she had gotten out of bed, and she had never done that before. It scared her to the point she was considering asking Sherlock to stay with her when she slept to make sure she didn’t take any unexpected trips.

As it was, it put her on edge as the days went by, and finally, Helen suggested they take a walk in the gardens to have tea there. Molly agreed with some trepidation, and Helen took her to a section of the garden that had been locked up and that she had not realised was there. When they stepped inside the walled off area, Molly looked around in wonder. Even in the autumn, the area was blooming with beautiful flowers and looked vibrant and wonderful. Helen smiled at the look of wonder on her face. “A few generations back, one of your relatives took an interest in botany,” she said. “He developed a few strains of plants that bloom nearly year round and planted them in this garden. It’s kept a secret from the general public so people don’t try and take clippings and cultivate the plants.”

Molly nodded and carried the tray toward a table in the middle of the garden. She was trying her best not to stumble on the path, though it was clear of debris and very smooth. After she had closed the gate Helen took the tray from her and carried it to the table for them. “I’m so sorry,” Molly said, embarrassed.

“I don’t remember Venecia dealing with the influx of her powers,” Helen said, setting the tray on the table. “But I don’t think it was _quite_ this bad. I think it was more...subtle, according to my parents. I think there are forces that want you to get your powers, and quickly. That leads me to think you might be in grave danger.” She began pouring the tea. “I know you have no real reason to trust Tobias or I, but...neither of us think Venecia’s death was entirely natural.”

Molly’s eyes widened. “Oh?”

“To be honest, Venecia suspected her death would have a helping hand as well, but she couldn’t be entirely sure. Premonitions she had about her own life were always murky,” Helen said as she prepared their tea. “She was never sure which ones were entirely reliable. She was also never sure which ones she could change and which ones she couldn’t. You seem to have a stronger ability to maneuver yours, if the one regarding your husband is any indication.” When she was done with Molly’s cup, she handed it to her.

“Did she think it was any of you who was going to kill her?” she asked.

Helen shook her head. “Not anyone at the manor, but...someone she knew. The problem was that even if she shut out most people in her life, there were still people she associated with. She was not a hermit, not by any means. She loved the village and was well liked among the villagers. She had business affairs to sort. She was active with a few charities, and she had friends.”

“Did she have a lover?’ Molly asked.

“No,” Helen said. “She had a romantic heart, but no one had ever caught her fancy. There may have been a possibility once, a long time ago, but he didn’t work out and she chose not to dwell on it. She instead tried the matchmaking approach, though she had far better luck than ‘Emma’ for the most part.”

“For the most part?” Molly asked, tilting her head.

A slight blush crossed Helen’s cheeks. “I don’t know if you’ve realised that Tobias and I have an affection for each other,” she said quietly as she made her own tea.

Molly smiled at that. There had been little signs when the two of them had been in the room together; lingering stares and prolonged touches. She hadn’t been sure, though, and they had seemed to try very hard to hide it. “I had thought there might be, but neither of you wanted it to be out in the open. I had to tell my husband quite firmly to keep his trap shut.”

“He _is_ overly observant, isn’t he?” Helen said with a half smile.

“It’s his stock in trade,” Molly said, taking a sip of her tea.

“Tobias and I have cared for each other for years. Nearly fifteen now. We denied it for longer, but we’ve been quite discrete about things. But we’re getting older, and before Venecia died she noticed and encouraged us. We had told her that we wanted to marry and leave the manor, but she hadn’t been happy about that. She wanted us to stay and asked us to reconsider. Before we could, though, she was dead.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Molly said, reaching over to pat Helen’s hand.

“We decided we would stay here at the manor. We’re too old to have children of our own, but Tobias has a niece and nephew who want to enter the service who are aware of the peculiarities of the household, and we could train them in our duties. And then we could retire to the village eventually and stay here because we do like the village and the people here. We could be happy together. We had just hoped to have Venecia’s blessing, and now it’s too late.”

“I’m sure you have it,” Molly said. “I think she would want you both to be happy. She seems to be that type of woman, from everything I’ve heard.”

“You’re very much like her,” Helen said, giving her a warm smile. “The more I get to know you, the more I see it. Despite the two of you being so far removed, family wise, there are distinct similarities. I think she would have enjoyed getting to know you.”

“I think I would have enjoyed getting to know her as well,” Molly said, giving her hand one final squeeze before letting go. She picked up her tea before having another sip and looking around. “Did she come here often?”

“She always took her afternoon tea here,” Helen said.

“I think I may do the same,” Molly said.

“I’ll make sure you have a copy of a key to the gate, then,” Helen said. “But for now, why don’t we talk about ways to alleviate the state you’re in? There are some herbal remedies we can try, and I can see if we can have people patrolling the manor and grounds to make sure you don’t wander off until you snap out of the sleepwalking state.”

Molly nodded. “That would be excellent,” she said, and then Helen went into specifics as Molly listened. Anything to help that didn’t involve outright twenty-four hour a day sedation would be lovely, and if Helen thought this would help she had hopes it would as well. But she also knew that when she spoke to her husband again she would bring up the mystery of her great-aunt’s death, because _that_ was something he might want to sink his teeth into, and if it was indeed murder and she was in danger as well, it might explain a lot as to why someone on the other side wanted her powers to manifest more quickly than they had for others in her family.


	12. Chapter 12

She found the herbal remedies helped her not feel so tired, but they didn’t help with the urge to wander the halls of the manor. She would still wake up in some random part of the manor when she took her frequent naps. At one point she had even made it outside the manor and was heading towards the forest when she woke up to a hand on her shoulder and the gardener trying to lead her back into the manor home. At that point, Sherlock was torn between staying up for long hours to read every book in the family library, or accompanying her to bed every time she slept. In the end, he started taking stacks of books with him to their bedroom and stayed with her each time she slept.

She found herself not entirely sure when she was asleep and when she was awake, her dreams were so vivid. The dreams when she was walking amongst the manor grounds or the manor itself seemed so realistic, just as if she was awake. She was almost sure she’d go mad if they continued, and no one was sure how long they would before she had her second premonition or spoke to a spirit, whatever the manifestation of her powers was going to be. 

She just wanted it to stop. She started to wish that she had never come to the manor, that she had never heard of her great-aunt Venecia, that she had never agreed to take the inheritance. She just wished that she could have her old life back, go back to Baker Street and have a simple life with Sherlock solving cases and working at Barts and not have...this. She didn’t need all of _this_ , the hassle or the headache or any of it. But she had it and she would have to suffer through it.

Emphasis on suffering, apparently.

She was dozing now, not entirely awake and not entirely asleep, when she heard Sherlock hiss slightly. She had thought she might have done something without realising it, hit him or kick him n her dozing, but after a moment he was gently shaking her shoulder. “Molly, wake up,” he said quietly.

“Hmm?” she asked, lifting her head up.

“I think the next time you begin to sleepwalk, you should be allowed to walk your course,” he said, his tone slightly excited. “I am reading an account from one of your ancestors who said they had similar experiences to you and they woke up at a certain statue at the family plot and had no such experiences again. But they have no recollection of how they got there, which leads me to believe they did so in a sleepwalking state.”

“So you’re saying the next time I fall asleep and leave the bed I should just...go wherever it is I need to go?” she asked.

He nodded. “I’ll go with you, to make sure you stay safe, but yes. I think that’s exactly what you need to do,” he said. “Are you tired enough to go to sleep now?”

“I think so,” she said, nodding slightly.

“Then you go to sleep, and if you get up and sleepwalk, I’ll keep you safe,” he said.

“You promise?” she said.

He set aside the book he was reading and gathered her in his arms. “I will always keep you safe, Molly. I swear.”

“All right,” she said, resting her head on his chest. She shut her eyes again and felt her breathing slow as she began to drift off to sleep. It didn’t take long for the dreams to begin and soon she felt the urge to go, to move, to leave her bed and go out into the woods. She felt herself begin to move, not quite sure if it was in reality or in the dream, and began to make her way out of the bedroom.

She didn’t really realize that she was outside until she felt wet grass under her bare feet, and then felt dirt and rocks that bit at her feet. Branches were in her way and she reached up to bat them away from her face. She had never been to the cemetery plot but she seemed to know her way there effortlessly, and she moved there with ease, as though she was being guided by an unseen force. She probably was, she dimly thought to herself. But soon she burst out into the family plot and saw the sculptures and tombstones and mausoleums. She was drawn in particular towards a sculpture of an angel with outspread wings reaching towards the heavens with an inscription at the base in Latin: “Beati Possidentes.”

She reached out to touch the inscription and then a flash of images crossed her mind. The family plot. A hooded figure holding a gun, pointed in her direction. A flash of light. Pain arcing through her body. Blood on her hands. Coldness seeping into her bones.

And then suddenly she felt arms surrounding her and wetness seeping into the thin fabric of her pyjamas. She turned her head and realized Sherlock was holding her close, his cheek pressed against her head as his hand rubbed her back. “What happened?” he murmured.

“I had a premonition,” she said, her voice shaking. “I think...I think I saw my own death.”

“No,” he said quietly. He pulled away from her and framed her face with both of her hands, running his thumbs along her cheekbones. “You were able to change my fate. I’ll be damned if I leave you to yours.” She nodded and let him pull her in for a tighter embrace as she tucked her face into the crook of his neck. She didn’t want to die. She had her whole future with him. She wanted years and years. She wanted her forever! She didn’t want to lose him, not now, not when they still had so much time.

“What do we do?” she murmured, her lips against his skin.

“We plan everything we can to make sure you’re safe as long as we need to remain here, to make sure this doesn’t come to pass,” he said. He pulled away, and then he kissed her forehead softly. He turned then and looked at the angel. “Blessed are those who possess,” Sherlock murmured, looking at the base of the statue and translating the inscription. “Let’s hope there is some truth to that.” She nodded, agreeing with the sentiment. She hoped she was blessed. She wanted to be, so very very much.


	13. Chapter 13

When they returned to the manor, Sherlock had Molly go over the details of her premonition three times, not that there was much to go over. But he had her go over ever single detail that she could remember, even ones that seemed inconsequential to her. All she wanted to do, though, was have her husband wrap his arms around her and fall back asleep. At least in his arms, she felt safe and secure and she knew nothing could hurt her.

It wasn’t until she woke up in the morning that she realised she hadn’t tried to leave the bed; she was still locked in Sherlock’s embrace as he slept soundly. At least that part was over, it seemed. That was good. She slowly and carefully disentangled herself from him and went to the window to look out at the yard, catching sight of the patch of woods that contained the family plot, though she couldn’t see it clearly from her vantage point in the manor. It seemed that the worst of the ordeal in obtaining these powers was over, but the worst moment in her life was yet to come. The worst moment in her far too short life, she thought bitterly.

 _But you were able to change Sherlock’s fate,_ a voice in her head said. _You had a premonition that something bad was going to happen and if John hadn’t been there, he would have been dead._

 _But what if the premonition was that he was supposed to get shot?_ a counterpoint voice replied, playing devil’s advocate. _What if he was never supposed to die?_

 _You know damn well that isn’t true,_ the first voice said. _You know damn well that wasn’t what that first premonition was. Sherlock was supposed to die and **you changed that** , you did. You can change this too._

 _But--_ the second voice began, but Molly shook her head, effectively cutting the second voice in her head off. The first voice was right. Deep down, she knew Sherlock was supposed to have died that day. Whether she’d had a full premonition or not, she knew her husband was not supposed to have survived that day, and yet here he was, walking and talking and breathing and _alive_ because she had insisted he take John with him and he had listened. And he was listening now, his scepticism shelved completely. She had said she thought she was going to die and he was treating it as if it was an absolute fact that something was going to happen, but it was an event that could be stopped.

And she would do the same.

She nibbled on her lower lip and debated what to do. The various bits of the premonition she had examined and the fact that she’d had a bit more of it during her dreaming last night had led her to believe that it would happen during the Halloween party at the manor. Very well. She knew what she needed to do. She knew it was a costume party, and so she needed to make sure her costume was something that was functional and would give her a way to protect herself. She went back to Sherlock and got back on the bed, shaking his shoulder gently. “Sherlock?” she said.

“Hmm?” he asked sleepily, not opening his eyes or moving much.

“I had more of the premonition in my dream last night,” she said, tucking some of her hair behind her ear as she leaned over his sleeping form.

 _That_ roused him awake. He rolled over to look up at her, blinking as he yawned. “Are there any new pertinent details?” he asked.

“I think I knew what my costume is,” he said.

He frowned. “All right.”

“I’m a pirate,” she said. “Sherlock, that gives me ways to defend myself.”

He started to sit up and she moved away from him so he could. “A working, loaded pistol in a holster, a sheathed sharpened sword on a belt...those could possibly be effective weapons,” he said thoughtfully. “Mary has practice with shooting a modified pistol that would work for the costume. I think she could get one on short notice and teach you how to use it. And I could give you basic lessons with the sword.”

“I’d rather have you look into my aunt’s murder more,” she said.

“I haven’t had time,” he said with a frown.

She moved closer. “I know, because you’ve been babysitting me as I slept and helping read up on the family history,” she said, caressing his cheek with her hand. “But I didn’t try and leave the bed last night so I don’t think that will be a problem. I’m _quite_ curious as to whether Helen and Tobias were right, though. I’ll talk to Greg about seeing what it would take to get her body exhumed and having someone I trust to do an autopsy at Barts since obviously one wasn’t run before, and you can look into other aspects.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, looking into her eyes.

Molly nodded. “I’m quite sure,” she replied. “I think the reason that whatever entity wanted me to get these powers so quickly was to have that premonition, so I could be aware that someone intended the same fate for me that they had for Venecia. Whether she had the same type of premonition or not, whether she could see her death as clearly as I could or just had a general sense about it I don’t know, but I do know one thing.”

“What’s that?” he said.

“If she _was_ murdered, I’m not going to rest until I’ve solved it,” Molly said. “I generally speak for the dead under normal circumstances, and I’ll be damned if I don’t speak for my family when I have the ability to do so now.”

Sherlock reached forward and pulled her closer, and then leaned in and kissed her. She relaxed into the kiss, enjoying it and for the moment forgetting about everything else, forgetting about premonitions and murders and supernatural abilities and just enjoyed a magnificent kiss with her husband. All too soon, it seemed, he pulled away. “We’ll figure it all out,” he said, resting his forehead against hers. “We will, I promise.”

“Good, because I’m holding you to it,” she said before kissing him again. After a few minutes of kissing he turned and lowered her to the bed and she began to lose herself in the moment, thankful for the distraction. It was be temporary, but it would be well worth it.


	14. Chapter 14

She had hoped that now that she’d had the premonition and wasn’t fighting the urge to sleepwalk all the time that she wouldn’t be so tired, but she still felt the urge to sleep the afternoon after her premonition. Sherlock had gone off to the village to talk to the police and the village doctor about what had happened the day Venecia had been found dead in her bedroom since they had been called in, just to get a better idea of what the scene had been, and Molly had worked in the library until the words in the books began to blur together. When that began to happen she had begged off and gone down a flight of stairs to the bedroom she and Sherlock were sharing to get some rest.

It was another fitful sleep, with more fragments of the prophetic dream coming into play, though they weren’t quite as fragmented as before. There seemed to be more coming together as full scenes, though it was frustrating that she wasn’t getting more concrete details. She knew that if she had more details she could figure out ways to change her fate beyond being armed and prepared to fight back. She wasn’t even sure if fighting back would make things worse, to be honest, or if the precautions that Sherlock was putting in place with Helen and Tobias would even work. He was almost 100% sure neither of them had anything to do with Venecia’s death, based on what he had gleaned from talking to the manor staff who had been around prior to her death and there on the day, so he felt he could trust them. She was glad for that, because she wanted so very much to trust the two of them herself.

After what seemed like mere minutes but she knew was probably longer, she gave up trying to sleep. She opened her eyes and felt a sensation as though she wasn’t the only one in the room. It wasn’t the feeling she had when Sherlock was there, a comfortable feeling that filled her with peace. First off, the room felt a few degrees colder than it had when she’d come in to go to sleep. Secondly, she felt something brush against the part of her arm that was above the quilt. With some trepidation she turned and looked up, her eyes growing wide at the sight she saw above her. Before she could help herself, a scream escaped her lips and she yanked the quilt up above her face.

“Milady,” she heard the male specter above her voice say, sounding hollow and very quiet. “I mean not to frighten you.”

“But you _do_ ,” she said, not moving the quilt down.

“Your life is in danger,” he said. “There are those who mean to do you harm on All Hallow’s Eve.”

She hesitated a moment, then lowered the quilt so that just the top of her head and her eyes were showing. “So the premonition...it definitely happens on Halloween?”

“Yes, milady,” he said. She took a closer look at the ghost and saw he was flickering in and out. When she tried to concentrate on him he stayed more solid, but not for long, and it seemed to sap her strength. “Beware those who say they have your best interests at heart.”

“Tobias and Helen?” she asked, fear gripping her heart.

He shook his head. “Nay. The ancestors of my butler and house matron are good folk. Their loyalty has bred true.”

She sat up more and the ghost moved back as he began to flicker more. “Just who are you?” Molly asked. She could see, in one of the brief moments he was more solid, scars on his chest, so she had a good idea who he could be.

“Byron Longfellow,” he said, inclining my head. “And you are my descendant. We will do our best to protect you, Mrs. Holmes, and those who may come through your line.” He began to flicker more rapidly. “Heed my words, and be on your guard.” And then he was gone.

A moment later the door burst open, and Tobias and Mary came in, Tobias holding a very ugly looking knife and Mary holding a gun. “Are you alright, ma’am?” Tobias asked.

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” Molly said, letting the quilt drop to her waist. “I just...I had an unexpected chat with Byron Longfellow.”

Tobias’s eyes widened and he nearly dropped the knife. “You have the dreams _and_ you speak to the dead while awake? Your aunt couldn’t do that.”

“She couldn’t?” Molly asked.

Tobias shook his head. “Only way she could speak to the dead was in a trance-like state. Had to have a special tea for that.”

Molly thought for a moment. “Did she have any of that tea before she died?” she asked shrewdly.

Tobias thought for a moment, then nodded. “Why yes, I think she had a pot prepared.”

“Did she ever share the brew with anybody?” Mary asked, catching on to what Molly was thinking about.

“No, she never did. It was special to her,” Tobias said. Then his eyes got even wider. “Bloody...you think her tea was poisoned?”

“I think it might have been,” Molly said, throwing her quilt back and getting out of bed. “I went through the process to have her body exhumed and she should be on her way to Barts. Do you have any of the tea left?”

Tobias nodded. “Her lawyer was trying to get her hands on it when she was here for the reading of the will but Helen wouldn’t let her have it.”

Molly stopped short when he said that. “Why would Ms. Selley want the tea?”

“Said it was her inheritance.”

“I don’t remember it being on the list,” Molly said with a frown.

“Neither did Helen, and Mrs. Williamson showed her the will,” Tobias said.

Molly’s eyes widened. “Bloody hell. Cameron Selley is the murderer,” she said.

“She probably wants the estate and the fortune,” Mary said. “After all, the three main motives for murder are money, love or revenge. You need to find out what happens to your great-aunt’s estate if something happens to _you_ before November 1st.”

Molly nodded. “We need to tell Sherlock,” she said, moving to the two of them. “And we need to do everything possible to make sure she’s found and locked up before she can get to me. But we _also_ need to find evidence she’s guilty, which means my husband might need to call his least favorite former crime scene technician for a favour.”

Mary gave her a grin. “Oh, asking Anderson for a favour is going to hurt his pride,” she said.

“But if it keeps me alive, he’ll bake up a crow and eat it on a silver platter,” Molly said. “We don’t have proof yet that Venecia was murdered. If we can come up with proof, we can bring the police in. But first we need the tea analyzed and a thorough examination of Venecia’s body, and my colleagues at Bart and Philip are the best I can think of. Hopefully, it’s not too late.” She made it over to Tobias and Mary. “But let’s keep the fact that I can speak to ghosts and have premonition a closely kept secret, alright? I don’t need people giving me strange looks or there being talk about me.”

“My lips are sealed,” Tobias said.

“Same here,” Mary said with a nod. Tobias turned and left the room, and Mary came over to give Molly a hug. “Don’t worry. Once your husband gets hold of this information, he’ll sink his teeth in this case and that bitch won’t get away with this. Your great-aunt will get the justice owed to her and you’ll be safe.”

“I hope so,” Molly said, hugging her friend back.


	15. Chapter 15

She noticed, now that she had had the conversation with her ancestor, that she could see the flickering images of other ghosts more easily. Some would flicker more than others, and she found she needed to concentrate quite hard to see them more clearly. They would stay in focus for anywhere from fifteen seconds or so to a full minute before going back to flickering or winking out altogether. Most didn’t attempt to talk to her, she found, and she had wondered if that was unusual before she asked her friends and found that from what they had read in the journals of her ancestors it seemed that the ghosts only spoke directly to them if they had need to. For the most part, they chose to leave her ancestors alone and remain in peace.

Still, it was unnerving. She could tell they were in the bedroom when she was having a particularly hard time sleeping because of the fragmented prophetic dream still trying to come through, and it was putting her on edge. She was snappish with everyone, and having to go to London in that mood for her court case didn’t help, especially when she couldn’t explain to anyone _why_ she was in that mood. Returning to the manor was almost a relief, because at least there it was peaceful and quiet.

She was on edge, though, the closer the party got, and she didn’t like it. She wanted to be proactive, to do _something_ , anything, other than sleep her days away or spend her time in the personal library surrounded by the tomes devoted to the lives of her ancestors. She had taken to taking some of the books out to the private garden with Mary and Kathryn and reading them out there, sometimes joined by Helen for a bit of normal conversation. She found those moments helped her keep her sanity when she felt it slipping away. She had the feeling Helen had done that at times for her great-aunt, and she wondered if she was having conversations with Mary about doing that once they returned to London because she noticed Mary slipping into the role when Helen wasn’t around.

She had gone out to the private garden on her own this morning as she had woken up and everyone seemed to be gone. Sherlock had left a note that he and John were returning to London to get more information on Cameron Selley’s whereabouts as she seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth when Venecia’s body was exhumed, and Molly knew that meant a trip to see her brother-in-law and _that_ meant he would probably be in a foul mood when he came back. She had no idea where Mary was, but Tobias had said she had taken her car and said she was off to see “an old business acquaintance” and as Mary had had only one old business that Molly was aware of she assumed it had to do with keeping her safe so she didn’t press. She wasn’t sure how much Tobias and Helen knew about Mary’s past and she wasn’t sure they needed to know all that much about it.

She’d been out there for an hour, flipping through the journal of one of her ancestors, a Duke in the Edwardian era who had practically reshaped the village government and helped it prosper, which explained how they had amassed so much clout in the village and why her family had so much respect despite its eccentricities, when the gate opened and Mary walked in with Kathryn on her hip and a bag and two cases awkwardly held in her free hands. “Molly, be a dear and take one of these?” she asked.

“What are these?” Molly asked, setting down the journal and getting out of her seat.

“A rather lethal knife and a fully functioning and modified pistol that are absolutely appropriate to go with the costumes I picked up for you and Sherlock for the costume party,” she said, handing Molly the bag and the largest case. “You and he will be going as pirates. Not any specific pirates, much to his disappointment, but I have friends who did costuming for West End productions and had rather authentic costumes so I pulled in some favours. Even Sherlock can’t complain _too_ much. And you won’t be a wench. You’ll be in breeches so you’ll be able to move, and I have about a week to teach you how to use the pistol and make you as much of an expert as I can in knife play.”

Molly looked in the bag and began rummaging through it, pulling items up. “This is my costume?”

Mary nodded. “Sherlock’s, John’s and mine are still in the car. _I_ get to be a wench because even after all this time I can still fight in a full skirt and corset and all that, if need be.” Molly gave her a raised eyebrow and she smirked. “One day when the men aren’t around I’ll tell you stories. It would depress them if I crush their masculinity.”

Molly chuckled at that. “Alright.” She pulled out a sash in a gorgeous forest green. “Oh, that’s a lovely brocade.”

“Well, female pirates wore lovely things, even the ones who wore breeches,” Mary said. “We won’t bother with wigs or hoop earring or any of that nonsense, or anything that can be used against you, but I’m going to teach you how to use that pistol in your hand and we’ll make sure it’s loaded, and I’m going to teach you how to use that knife so if, God forbid, something happens to your pistol, and if worse comes to worse we’ll work on some of the hand to hand stuff I haven’t gotten to yet. I met that woman and I can teach you a few things to take her down. And trust me, I’ve never been afraid to fight dirty.”

A sudden surge of emotion threatened to overwhelm her and Molly set everything on the table next to the journal and reached over to embrace both Mary and Kathryn. “Oh, you don’t know how much this means to me,” Molly said, trying not to cry.

“Love, of course I do,” Mary said, reaching up with her free hand to smooth her hair back. “If I was in your position I wouldn’t want to sit around and wait. I’d want to _do_ something. I’d want to be as prepared as I can be. And who better to teach you than an ex-assassin? If anyone knows how to fight dirty it’d be me.” She pulled back and looked at Molly, giving her a smile. “Now don’t cry. We have work to do. Let me hand Kathryn off to Helen and we’ll go find a place to practice shooting first while I have someone go find us something to use as a dummy, alright?”

Molly nodded. “Alright.” She realized she felt better now. Even with the prophetic dreams not being crystal clear, with her not knowing _exactly_ what was going to happen and whether all of this would make it better or worse, at least she was doing something. That made her feel better, and she desperately needed that.


	16. Chapter 16

Sherlock came back with the news that no one knew where Cameron was, but Mycroft sent her his assurances that tracking down “that despicable woman” was his highest priority and he would use whatever means necessary to find her. Sherlock said chances were he was diverting national resources to do so, so Molly should feel assured she would be found as soon as humanly possible. She hadn’t realized her brother-in-law cared quite so much about her.

When the autopsy results and Philip’s examination of the tea confirmed that Venecia had been poisoned the police got involved in things, and Sherlock split his time between helping Mary in her lessons with Molly and helping the police with their investigation. He wasn’t entirely happy about it at first, preferring to spend his time with Molly, but she had told him she wanted the best person involved in bringing Cameron to justice, and that was Sherlock. She tried her best to make it up to him when they were alone, because even though she knew they were taking every precaution they could, there was always the chance _this_ premonition was one she couldn’t change.

As time ticked down to Halloween the manor began to take shape for the Halloween party. The first and second floors would be off limits to guests, but the ground floor and the grounds themselves would be open to everyone from the village. There were pavilions being erected on the grounds and lights being strung up all over the place to make the darker areas of the manor grounds seem as bright as day, but for some reason Molly still felt there were too many places that were too dark, and every time she caught sight of the pathway to the family plot she felt a chill run down her spine. The woods were going to be off limits to guests but she knew there would always be adventurous types who would want to sneak off to the graveyard.

She had the feeling this year perhaps they might stumble on something they shouldn’t, like perhaps her dead body.

The maudlin thoughts kept wearing her down, and she knew that they were doing her no good in all of this. When Halloween morning dawned she didn’t want to wake up. All she wanted to do was stay in bed all day and all night, snuggled against her husband and pretend that there was no party, there was no premonition, there was no woman hell-bent on her dying. But she knew she couldn’t do that; if she chose not to attend the party she wouldn’t collect her inheritance, and while she was almost tempted to walk away from the money and the manor she didn’t want it to end up in probate when Cameron ended up in jail. It would wreak havoc on the lived of everyone who worked at the manor and who depended on someone like her owning the manor and the lands and running it all fairly.

She buried her face in the crook of Sherlock’s neck, unsurprised when he pulled her closer and pressed a kiss in her hair. “I don’t want to be awake either,” he said quietly, his lips nestled in her hair.

“I would rather just sleep through the whole bloody day,” she said.

“I would too, but I don’t think that’s an option. If you tried to, I think the premonition would still force a way of coming true, and it may be worse if you tried to completely circumvent it,” he said. He tightened his grip on her. “Stay close to me tonight, if you can. I don’t want you out of my sight if I can help it.”

“I’ll try,” she said. She lifted her head up and settled it on his shoulder. “I think part of me just wants it all to hurry up, and part of me wants it to take as long as possible until it happens.”

“I know exactly how you feel,” Sherlock said. “Today, we should spend as much time together as possible before the party. I have no other commitments. I...want to be with you today.”

She nodded, knowing what he was saying. In case the premonition came true and there was no stopping it. In case today was her last day on Earth, their last day together. In case they were torn apart by a woman whose greed knew no bounds and was leading her to take innocent lives, and would lead her to take hers. And she wanted the same. She moved a hand to his chest and seized a handful of his T-shirt in her hand. “I think I can leave the last of the preparations for the party to Helen and the rest of the household staff,” she said. “Let’s just stay here and ignore the rest of the world until we have to make an appearance, alright?”

He nodded, shifting his position slightly so he could hover over her, his mouth just centimeters from hers. “I see no problem with that,” he murmured before he leaned in to kiss her, and she kissed him with all the passion she possessed, trying not to think that these could be some of the last kisses they ever shared. If she allowed herself to think that, she might lose her composure and turn into a blubbering mess. Instead, she was going to focus on him, on making every moment count, and on giving him all the best memories of her, even if they might be tinged with sadness later.

Just in case.


	17. Chapter 17

It was with the utmost reluctance that Molly roused herself from Sherlock’s side to get ready for the party later that afternoon. She had noticed the room had stayed very spectre free the entire day while they had been otherwise occupied, and she was grateful for that. She had hope that if she was lucky enough to survive the night, perhaps any spirits that resided at Baker Street would also grant her and Sherlock the same courtesy.

 _If_. She hated the fact that even now she still wasn’t certain if she would see the sun rise tomorrow. Normally she was ever the optimist but the continued dreams had worn her down to the point she was expecting the worst. Not that she wanted it; no, more than anything she wanted to change her fate like she had changed Sherlock’s. But part of her wondered if she could get that lucky twice.

She changed into her pirate’s costume slowly, putting on the breeches and the loose cotton shirt, then all the rest of the accouterments, and then finally settling the belt that would hold her well sharpened knife and the loaded pistol on her hips. She took a look at herself in the mirror and felt she looked quite good, but would much rather stay huddled under the quilt and far away from the guests and her potential murderer. She was still looking at her reflection in the mirror when Sherlock came up behind her, similarly garbed as a pirate, and slid his arms around her waist. “I’ll keep you safe,” he murmured, pressing a kiss in her hair.

“You’ll try,” she said quietly, placing her hands over his. “I know you will, but if this is fate, no matter how hard you try it won’t matter.”

“You changed my fate,” he said insistently. “Your fate can change too. Nothing is etched in stone. I believe that.”

She leaned back into him, shutting her eyes and relishing the feel of his embrace. She wanted him to hold her like this forever but she knew that far too soon they would have to go out and face the people in the village and then at some point Cameron Selley would find her way to Forsythe Manor and try to kill her. She might even succeed. No one knew because the dreams gave her no real clues. She’d managed to kill Venecia, she could kill Molly too. 

She had to stop thinking these things. She opened her eyes and tightened her hold on Sherlock’s hands. “I love you, Sherlock. I will always love you. Just...remember that, all right?”

“You can tell me that tomorrow morning,” he said, dropping another kiss on the top of her head. “And every morning and every night until we’re old and grey.”

She gave him a small smile at that. He was so confident that she would make it through the night. How she wished she could share his confidence. She pulled away from him and reached again for his hand, grasping it tightly as they made their way downstairs to begin greeting the guests as they arrived. It wasn’t long until the manor and the grounds were filled with the sounds of music and laughter and frivolity, but Molly didn’t feel much lightness in her heart as the hours went by. Sherlock stayed close to her, and when he couldn’t Mary or John were nearby. She was stifled but she knew they were there for good reason.

As it got closer to midnight, though, her husband and her friends seemed to fall away more often. There were gaps where she would look up and see them not around for a moment before they would pop into view. And she knew that whatever it was that was leading the way for her premonition to happen was making _sure_ it would happen. At a quarter till midnight she had been walking out near the veranda, on her way to Sherlock, when she felt something poke her in the back. “Veer towards the woods,” she heard Cameron say. “Move at a sedate pace and _don’t_ arouse suspicions.”

She could see Sherlock so close, and yet there was no way to call to him, to alert him, she realized as the leaden feeling in her stomach that she had felt when the premonition about him had taken hold. She began to move towards the woods and Cameron eased away from her but stayed close behind, and when they were at the edge of the woods and the slightly overgrown path to get to the family plot Cameron put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. She reached around and divested Molly of the belt she wore, tossing it to the ground. What she didn’t know was Sherlock had given her a knife in an ankle sheath as well, so she wasn’t completely unarmed, but she had no idea if she’d be able to reach that. Then she shoved her towards the family plot.

Molly stumbled slightly on the uneven path that they walked, as she had when she’d sleepwalked there, but finally, they came through. Being awake upon entering this time, she got a better view of the mausoleums and tombstones of her family and was surprised at the sheer number of them. Quite a bit of that side of her family was buried there, it seemed. She hesitated a moment but Cameron shoved her roughly forward again. She nearly collided into the angel that had given her the premonition of her death and then whirled around to face Cameron. “Why?” she asked, looking at the woman. “Why on earth did you murder my great-aunt just to get your hands on her fortune?”

“Because she wouldn’t simply _die_ ,” Cameron spat out, pushing the hood of her black cloak back. Molly could see she wore a mask on her face, a mask depicting the Grim Reaper; that was cruelly ironic. She didn’t bother to remove that. “And then she had to search for you and find you and so she updated her will to leave everything to _you_. She was so proud of you, being a pathologist and working with Scotland Yard.” She shook her head. “It was all supposed to have gone to me, other than a pittance to the idiots who live here. But _no_. _You_ had to come into the picture.”

“But why kill her now?” Molly asked.

“Because I needed to make sure you died before the party was over,” she said, aiming the gun at Molly’s chest. “I needed to make sure Venecia was dead before the party, so you would have to come to Forsythe Manor for part of the month of October as stipulated in the will and then kill you before the party so I could inherit. But that damn housekeeper and butler, they got suspicious. And your husband...damn him to hell.” She cocked the gun. “Doesn’t matter now. I’ve siphoned off the funds and I’ll have my revenge and then I’ll disappear.”

Molly felt a bone-deep sense of fear and she knew in that moment just what Sherlock felt before John saved him. But she had no one saving her. She only had one chance. In a split second, she ducked down as Cameron fired the gun to get to the knife at her ankle and she felt the bullet impact in her shoulder, the opposite one of her husband’s, but it wasn’t her good arm, and she managed to get the knife in her hand and toss it, lodging it in Cameron’s arm. Cameron screamed and dropped the knife as Molly slumped against the statue.

But then Cameron kept screaming, and Molly realised that the tombs and the mausoleums were all glowing, and spirits were rising from them. She watched with wide eyes as they all began to descend on Cameron, who pulled the mask off her face and tried to pull the hood of her cloak over her face instead, to no avail. After a moment looked away and tried to cover her ears to keep from hearing the frightened screams coming from beside her as the village church bells rang midnight.

The screaming stopped at the bells stopped ringing, replaced by whimpering and gibberish coming from Cameron’s direction, and Molly opened her eyes again to see a large contingent of spirits surrounding her, looking at her with smiling faces. The woman at the forefront she recognized as her great-aunt. “You are safe,” Venecia said. “All three of you.”

“Three…?” she said.

Venecia chuckled. “You’re the first in the family with the gift to carry more than one child, though no test in the world would tell you that right now. But you’re carrying twins, a boy and a girl. We weren’t about to let that bitch destroy our family line, but you’ve taken care of yourself rather well, my dear. We couldn’t be prouder.”

Molly’s eyes went wide and she instinctively moved her good hand to her belly. “I’m…?”

“The father and your friends will be here soon,” she said. “But just know that you’re special. We all had hoped there would be someone like you in the family, someone with the ability to change fates. Shake things up a bit.” Her family members began to fade away as she heard pounding footsteps coming towards her, with Venecia being the last. “Thank you, Molly, for giving me peace.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, and Venecia faded away just as Sherlock, Mary, John, Helen and Tobias burst into the cemetery. “Sherlock!”

“Molly,” he said, coming over to her and holding her close, albeit carefully. “You’re alive.”

She nodded, using her good arm to stay close. “Yes. My ancestors saved me.”

“And you saved yourself, too,” John said. “Sank the knife in her arm.”

“Did a bit of damage with it, too,” Mary said approvingly.”

“She did some damage to me, first,” Molly said.

“And we’ll get that looked at,” John said, moving over towards her and Sherlock. “As soon as your husband lets you go, at any rate. I’ll be your personal physician if you want.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Molly said with a grateful smile.

“Other than getting shot, are you alright?” John asked.

She thought about it for a moment. “More or less,” she said. “Other than being probably two weeks pregnant, I think.”

“What?” Sherlock said, pulling back and looking at her with wide eyes. 

“According to my great-aunt, I’m carrying twins,” she said. “A boy and a girl.”

He looked at her for a moment, his mouth opening and closing without him making a sound, and then a wide smile spread on his face. He leaned in and kissed her deeply, careful of her injuries, and she kissed him back. “I didn’t think this evening could have gotten better, but I was wrong,” he said.

“Well, let’s get my patient back to the house before you start celebrating,” John said. “And remember, you’re injured too. You’re supposed to be taking it easy as well.”

“Yes, Dr. Watson,” Sherlock said sourly, rolling his eyes. Molly giggled and Sherlock and Mary carefully helped her up before she leaned into her husband, following Tobias and Helen as they led a now clearly mad Cameron out of the graveyard. She hadn’t expected things to end quite like this, but it was an ending that worked out for the best, and that was what she much preferred.


	18. Chapter 18

Because of her injury, Molly ended up taking extra time away from Barts. She decided to recuperate at Forsythe Manor with Sherlock by her side, despite the unsettling events that had happened there, and had found it to be a very nice experience. One of the first things she had done was insist on hosting a wedding for Tobias and Helen, saying that they deserved all the happiness in the world together, and insisting that they move into the guesthouse on the grounds so that they could have a house of their own and still be on the property to run it while she was in London. She had not expected either of them to be as pleased as they were, but Helen had broken into tears of happiness and Tobias had shown hints of emotion as well, so she knew it was worth it. And Venecia’s spirit had heartily voiced her approval so she knew she had made the right decision.

In the time leading up to the nuptials both Helen and Tobias worked with Molly to control her powers better. She hadn’t had another premonition while she was there but she found it easier to see and speak to spirits after the encounter in the family plot. It seemed as though after that they made themselves known more often. When she went out into the village for the first time she was able to see and discretely speak to a spirit she was not related to, so she was able to see that her powers worked on spirits that were not related to her or attached to the manor. That made her feel especially proud of herself.

Mary and John came up to the manor as often as they could while Sherlock and Molly were there, for long weekends and days off. It was nice to have them there, and they continued to help Sherlock and Molly go through the private library while they were there. It was perhaps two weeks before Helen and Tobias’s wedding when they finally reached Venecia’s journals, and everyone agreed that it should be Molly who read those. Molly took them to the private garden and read them there, sometimes with company but mostly on her own, learning more about her great-aunt and the type of woman she was. By the time she was done she felt more connected to this side of her family.

While all of this had been going on, Sherlock had surprised her with a lovely leather-bound journal of her own, and she had begun to write down everything that happened, starting with recounting everything that had lead up to the events with Cameron on Halloween. It was hard to write down, but she knew that eventually her son or daughter might inherit her powers, and their children might, and then _their_ children might, and these journals would be important for them. It was important that they know what had happened and how she had gotten entangled in all of this and how Venecia’s life had been so callously taken by someone whose motivation had been greed, and how that act had been avenged by all of their ancestors.

The wedding was beautiful and most of the village came out for it. Helen asked Molly to stand by her side and Tobias asked Sherlock to stand by him, and they said their vows on the manor grounds near the lake. Molly had gotten her finances straightened out from the mess that Cameron had tried to make of them, which had been surprising, and had splurged on a lovely honeymoon for the two of them consisting of a cruise that would take them to Venice to Athens and then allow them to stay in both Venice and Athens a few extra days for all the help they had given her. 

Sherlock had joked that perhaps they should have taken that honeymoon instead before the twins were born but she had told him they didn’t need to, that she’d be happy traveling with him and the babies later. She had the feeling she might get a trip before she was too far pregnant, though, if he could pull some strings and surprise her for their anniversary. Eventually, though, life had to return to normal, or as close to normal as it could for a woman who had premonitions and spoke to the spirits of dead people. They returned to London and Baker Street, and Sherlock went back to consulting and she decided she was going to go back to Barts, go back to doing what she loved best...with a twist. 

Today was her first day back, and as she stepped out of her office and adjusted her ponytail before going to her charts to look at the list of autopsies she had to do, she glanced around her morgue to see who was waiting for her. She saw an older gentleman, a young woman and a teenage boy, and she flashed the three of them a smile. “So! Hello, I’m Dr. Molly Holmes. I’ll be doing the autopsies today.” The three spirits looked surprised that she was addressing them, and she moved over to the list of autopsies. “Mr. Ackerman? I’m going to start with your autopsy first. So why don’t you tell me what happened...”


End file.
